Beach House
by Checkerboards
Summary: The sequel to 'Home is Where the Heart Is'. Eddie and Jackie are getting away from all their problems with a nice trip to the beach. But some problems never go on vacation...
1. Party at the Leper Colony

The turning of the new year is traditionally associated with change. Across the nation, and perhaps across the world, people vow at the beginning of each new year that this time things will be better. This time, they vow, they will shun chocolate in favor of cheerfully snacking on a big crunchy stick of celery. This time, they will buckle down and really write that story that they've been meaning to write for the last three years. Sure, they said the same things last year, and the year before, but this time - for certain! - it will be different.

This particular new year couldn't be anything but different for Jackie Baker. At the start of last year, she'd been safely anonymous in the populace of Gotham, working away at her quiet little job in her quiet little apartment and enjoying her quiet little life. And now...

She edged a little closer to the Riddler - Eddie - smiling as he put his arm around her shoulders. Around them, the criminal population of Gotham (or at least, the half that preferred masks and spandex) celebrated in their typical exuberant fashion. It didn't matter in the slightest to them that New Year's Day had been last week. Piddly little things like dates didn't matter when you had a pocket full of ill-gotten holiday cash to blow at the bar.

Harley Quinn and the Mad Hatter's Walrus twirled wildly past the question-marked pair with all of the exuberance that could be found at the bottom of a bottle. "_Wheeeeee_!" Harley crowed as the massive Walrus swung her up into the air and launched her toward the chandelier. She landed with a tinkling _crunch_ and sprawled flat on her back, giggling helplessly as the chandelier sailed back and forth above the revelers.

Jackie dodged a piece of dislodged glass. "Shouldn't we be going?" she asked.

Eddie glanced at a nearby penguin-shaped clock. "No. We've still got at least four hours to wait."

"Four hours? _Here_?" Jackie skipped out of the way of another airborne piece of glass and almost ran into the Ventriloquist, who was quietly observing the party while Scarface ogled the pretty girls. "Couldn't we have waited at home?"

"No," Eddie said flatly. "...People...know we'd be there."

Jackie sighed. Okay, so all of his former henchgirls knew where they lived, and they'd all joined together into some kind of warped Coalition of Mild Evil. Okay, so at least three of them had tried to kill Jackie, and a large percentage of the others had tried to kill or terminally embarrass the Riddler. Okay, so they could in theory talk themselves into another raid on their house, one which pantyhose and strategically placed socks probably wouldn't discourage. It was probably still safer there than in any room containing more than one rogue and a bar full of every kind of alcohol imaginable.

"Why four hours?" Jackie asked curiously.

"Because," Eddie answered, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve, "it's safer to travel after the sun comes out." He shrugged at her questioning look. "Batman."

"What about the Bat?" snarled Killer Croc, jerking out of his half-doze on the bartop next to them.

"Uh...he's a jerk," Jackie suggested.

"I'll drink to that!" Croc rasped, doing just that before wobbling out onto the dance floor.

Jackie twitched a bit as a raucous chorus of "Auld Lang Syne" broke out behind them. Yes, this year was definitely going to be one to remember.

* * *

><p>The party had wound down a few hours later. Most of the other rogues had gone elsewhere, either by choice or by force. For most, the threat of being barred from the premises was enough to send them on their boozy way. For others, there was always a trick umbrella or two to be demonstrated as a gentle suggestion of what might happen to them if they didn't leave immediately.<p>

Eddie and Jackie, both of whom had avoided any drinking, were sitting at a cozy little table toward the back of the room. They talked together, chuckling over near misses and telling stories, and neither of them noticed the clock slowly drawing closer to four in the morning.

The crash of slamming doors reverberated through the nearly empty club. Jackie looked up from her cola in time to see two navy-blue blurs skid past her and throw themselves behind the bar. There they crouched, panting and sweaty. Their long blue coats hung limply open over their clothes - a T-shirt and jeans for the man, and a set of silky grey pajamas with snow melting on the cuffs for her.

"Maybe...you should have...gone with them," she panted, scraping a hank of sweaty hair off of her forehead.

"No. This is better," he assured her, wheezing as he sank to the floor.

"What planet are you from that this is _better_?" she snapped, flopping down next to him.

"The planet where I love you," he replied. "Want my socks?"

She looked down at her bare, soaking-wet feet. "Yes."

Eddie chuckled softly and took a sip of his water. "You know them?" Jackie whispered.

"Yeah. That one's Sorrow, and her sidekick is...what was he calling himself...Grief."

"Happy couple, are they?" she giggled. Honestly, the names people gave themselves in this town...

Eddie rolled his eyes at her terrible joke and swiveled in his chair, leaning one arm casually up on the backrest. "Having a good evening?" he inquired, examining the bedraggled couple dripping tiny puddles on the floor.

"Oh, it's dandy, thanks," the woman muttered, pulling on the socks. "Couldn't be better, Eddie..._Eddie_!" She scrambled to her feet. Her oversized socks hit the little puddles on the tiled floor, sending her skating toward them in a windmilling, flailing bunch of limbs. To stop, she grabbed the first thing that presented itself - Eddie's head. His hat tumbled gracelessly onto the floor, where it rocked upside-down dangerously close to a puddle.

"Hey!" he yelped, abandoning his suave pose and grabbing her wrists. He immediately let go and ducked backward, examining the palms of his hands with frantic worry.

Sorrow steadied herself and tugged her coat into place. "You're fine. See? Gloves." Eddie relaxed enough to scoop his endangered hat off of the floor as Sorrow displayed the solid, heavy gloves covering her all-too-dangerously poisonous hands.

"Good," he muttered, replacing the hat on his head and fussing with it until it had just the right tilt. "Have you met Query?"

Jackie waved tentatively at Sorrow.

"Nice to meet you," Sorrow said absently before returning to her previous panic. "Eddie, you've got to get out of here!"

"Why?" he asked with the patience of one who had carried on conversations in the midst of buildings collapsing, running from the police, and other such calming events.

"Batman's out there!" she said, dramatically gesturing to the door as if the man himself were waiting for his introduction.

"And?" he asked calmly.

"And?" she squeaked. "You do remember Batman, right? Tall, wears a mask, likes to break your legs?"

"Yes," he said mildly, settling back into his chair. "I also know that Batman doesn't come in here unless there's some earth-shaking problem to deal with."

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Every rogue in Arkham - well, _almost_ every rogue," she corrected, "is out there right now. Free. Loose. I think that registers at least an 8.0 on the Earth-Shaking Disasters scale."

"All right," he agreed amiably. "We'll lay low here for a few more hours, and he'll give up and go find someone else to bother."

Sorrow blew out an exasperated sigh. "That's not going to work this time."

Eddie smiled with the easy amusement of the expert soothing the novice. "I think I've had just a _bit_ more experience with Batman following me," he pointed out, "and-"

Sorrow's eyes narrowed. "Do you remember," she said sweetly, "the last time that we were in Arkham together? Do you remember breaking out with all the rogues?" She folded her arms. "Do you remember who _planned_ that escape? Me," she jabbed her thumb into her chest, "and you." She pointed at him.

"And me," Grief chimed in.

"And him," she added, not looking away from Eddie. "And, hmm, let's see, who is Batman out to pummel into a fine powder for their involvement with that little adventure? Why, I do believe that it's _me and you and him_!"

The color drained out of Eddie's face. "He knows it was us?"

"He knows," she confirmed grimly.

Eddie leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Jackie gnawed nervously on her lower lip as his eyebrows drew together. Then, like the dawning of a rather small and ineffective sun, his face brightened.

"He chased you here on foot, right? Well, I've got a car. Come with us," Eddie volunteered. "We're going to South Carolina."

Jackie's heart sank down somewhere around her toes. Come with us? But this was their vacation! Together! Alone!

"South Carolina?" Sorrow asked, bewildered. "That's a bit far, isn't it?"

"I could drop you off at home if you like," Eddie offered, one eyebrow raised.

"South Carolina it is!" Sorrow agreed hastily.

"We'll go get our coats and meet you near the doors." Eddie offered a hand to Jackie, who numbly took it and rose to her feet.

When they were out of earshot, Jackie nudged Eddie with her elbow. "_Come with us_?" she hissed.

"What was I supposed to do? Leave them there?" he whispered back urgently.

"Yes!" she snapped. "I thought we were going to go alone. Together."

"Plans change," he said absently as he lifted their coats off of the rack. He handed her coat to her and began struggling into his own. "It's no big deal."

No big deal? _No big deal_? The whole reason they were getting out of Gotham was to leave everyone behind so that they could have a romantic getaway! They weren't going to have any contact with the rogues, the Bats, the ex-henchgirls...

Ex-henchgirls. Jackie bit her lip as she shrugged into her gaudily question-marked coat. If he didn't care about the two of them being alone...well, he _did_ go through a lot of girls. Maybe he didn't feel like she thought he did. Maybe she was the only one thinking romance. Maybe -

She crossly told herself to shut up. Eddie loved her, or why would he have kissed her? Why would he have let her do countless things to him - everything from making him live in a pink apartment to stuffing him in a dress - without kicking her out and leaving her behind?

He was talking. Jackie shook her head and tried to rejoin the conversation. "...besides, she's got powers! Can you imagine us working together? Batman would never suspect it!"

"Until you tell him about it beforehand, right?" Jackie said grumpily.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pausing with one arm shrugged behind him in a quest for his missing sleeve. "You'll like them!"

Jackie bit her lip. How could she say that she didn't want to take anyone with them, no matter how likeable they were (and that was still up for debate)? She especially didn't want to take other rogues along, particularly one that could kill people by accident. "Sorry" didn't mean much to a corpse.

But...well, he'd already invited them. It wouldn't be very polite to march over and uninvite them - and Jackie was very enthusiastic about being polite to people that could kill her. Besides, maybe they'd change their mind and stay in one of the other cities on their route. Gotham was hundreds of miles from South Carolina - surely they could be dropped off in a nice, far-away location while she and Eddie continued southward.

"Nothing," she said, answering Eddie's question. "It's okay."

"Great!" he grinned, doing up his buttons. "Now we-"

A quiet white light began blinking softly over their heads. Eddie winced, grabbed Jackie by the arm and towed her to the entrance. "What now?" she hissed.

He jerked his chin toward the gentle white lights. "Someone's on the roof," he whispered back. Jackie's heart, already pounding from anger, jealousy, and general biological processes, kicked into overdrive at the thought of Batman not ten feet from her head.

They met Sorrow and her henchman at the entrance. They were hunched by the glass, doing their best to look outside without the outside looking in at them. "Come on," Eddie hissed, kicking Sorrow lightly on the ankle. "This way!"

They snaked through a dimly-lit corridor marked "Employees Only", up a battered set of stairs, and skidded to a halt in a small room that held nothing but a couch, a gilt-framed mirror, a sink, and an old beat-up dresser.

Sorrow pulled open a drawer. "We're going to fight him with band-aids?" she asked flatly.

"No, no, this is just where Oswald sticks people who got into a fight," Eddie said dismissively as he ran his fingers over the frame of the giant mirror above the couch. "No, we're looking for..._ah_!" As his fingers sunk into four specific depressions, the giant mirror swung aside to reveal an enormous ventilation duct.

"Okay. Up on the couch, then out through the ventilation duct."

"You've got to be kidding," Sorrow said. "We'll fall through the ceiling!"

"No, no, they're specially reinforced. I heard Oswald bragging about it one weekend, that if anything should happen he had a *kwak* failsafe exit." Eddie grinned. "Up we go."

One by one, they clambered into the metal shaft. "Roomy," Sorrow commented.

"Well, it had to accommodate Oswald," came the echoey voice down the tunnel. "Hurry up. We'll come out around the side."

They crept as quietly as they could through the ductwork. The duct wound around and around in what seemed like an endless maze. "Okay," whispered Eddie, "The exit should be around - _heeeeeeeeeere_..." The duct echoed with clangs and bangs as he rolled down the steep incline toward the door blocking the exit.

_Whung-ung-ung-ung-ung-ung-ung_!

"Found it," echoed a tinny whimper from below. The other three followed at a more sedate pace, slipping a little as they descended.

Once they were ready, Eddie lifted the latch and swung the door open. "_Go_," he hissed, jumping into the icy alley and skidding deftly toward the car. The others, in varying states of gracelessness, skated and flailed their way after him, diving into the car as if all the hounds of hell were hot on their heels.

Jackie found herself behind the wheel. She jammed the key in with shaking hands and the car roared to life. Her foot stomped hard on the pedal as she yanked the wheel, aiming them down the quiet street.

The little green car zipped away. In the shadows surrounding the Iceberg, a caped figure threw itself onto a still-rolling, ominous black car and roared after the escaping rogues.

(_to be continued_)

_Author's Note: There is no excuse for taking almost three years to post this story. Rather, I have many excuses, one of whom is having his second birthday soon, but I still feel really shamefully sorry for taking this long. I've finally managed to learn how to write with Raffi or the Wonder Pets or that damn singing jungle toy playing, though, so I will hopefully be able to update this on a less-than-monthly schedule. _


	2. Driving Miss Crazy

Car chases were a staple of life in downtown Gotham. Every night, sirens wailed in a shrill chorus as one of Gotham's infinite supply of ne'er-do-wells did his or her best to avoid the humiliation of being dragged off to jail like a naughty puppy.

Of course, the most dangerous chases weren't accompanied by sirens, but by the blowtorch roar of the Batmobile ripping down the street like a living shadow. When Batman chased the bad guys, mechanics and lamppost vendors everywhere rejoiced.

A light green car, stained sickly yellow by the streetlights, drifted around a curve and accelerated down the cold, empty street. The Batmobile thundered after it, sailing deftly between the ever-present construction barricades as it followed its prey onto the busy interstate.

The sun peeked over the horizon like a shy doe wondering if that man in the funny plaid hat could be trusted. Jackie, eyes narrowed in concentration, yanked the car into a U-turn, propelling the little car wildly between the cars passing in both directions. The passengers, most of whom were used to dealing with death on a semi-daily basis, screeched in unison as the car jounced into the air above the median and landed facing the stream of traffic.

"You're going the wrong way!" Eddie shouted, hanging on to the door handle with both hands as they wove between the oncoming vehicles. In the backseat, Grief huddled into a tiny ball, covering his face with his hands in a rather unorthodox addition to the standard crash position. Sorrow frantically tried to buckle a seatbelt that hadn't seemed nearly so important when they'd leaped into the car.

"We're fine," Jackie snapped, in the face of all the evidence, and spun the car so that it was going somewhat in the correct direction down the crowded road. They swerved and skidded along, passing everyone that got in their way.

Jackie was not a happy henchgirl. Being chased by Batman was bad enough. Being chased by Batman with two unwelcome rogueish guests freaking out behind her was worse - particularly since they might tag along all the way to South Carolina, where she was _supposed_ to be having a romantic vacation with Eddie. The fact that the two interlopers had literally led Batman right to them wasn't winning them any points with her, either.

"Who taught you how to drive?" Sorrow shrieked as they came within inches of crushing a pair of leather-clad motorcyclists.

"My father!" Jackie growled. "Not that it's any of your business." The landscape around them blurred as the car shot forward like a pinball on a rickety table.

"Hold on!" Eddie suggested in a high-pitched squeal as they lurched between a semi and a tiny sports car.

"Do you have a problem with my driving?" Jackie snarled, shooting a poisonous glare at him.

"No," Eddie lied, clinging to the handle and bracing himself with a foot on the dashboard. "You're doing a great job! Really! _Look out for that truck_! Fantastic!" he added as her eyebrows lowered like a threatening storm cloud. "You're a wonderful driver _the trailer don't hit the trailer!"_

Jackie scowled darkly at him and forced the car onto the nearest off-ramp. They whizzed onto the city streets, tires squealing, and powered through the traffic at a speed that promised slightly less death. "There," she muttered. "Satisfied?"

"At least we got away from the Batman," Sorrow said optimistically. A grappling hook shot by her window as the car swerved to the left. "Or not."

"_What_?" Jackie looked in the rearview mirror to see the Batmobile shouldering its way through traffic toward them. "Ohnonononono," she groaned, trying to weasel into the fast lane to the left. Images flew through her head - being arrested by Batman. Going to jail. Going to prison. Going to _Arkham_.

An intersection packed with huge construction equipment loomed ahead. She spun the wheel to the left, aiming for the only clear path in sight. The car rocked up onto two wheels as they whipped around a bulldozer.

"You can't go into a construction zone!" wailed Eddie as they bounced down the shattered remnants of the road.

"Watch me!"

The car hopped along the remains of the broken road like a kangaroo with a piece of gum stuck to its foot. Jackie spared a glance at the rearview mirror. No headlights. Good, they hadn't been followed. She triumphantly yanked the car into a side alley that looked fairly safe. In fact, it looked like it had been newly resurfaced!

Unfortunately, the smooth, gleaming surface of the alley turned out to be ancient asphalt coated with enough spilled oil to deep-fry the Batsignal. All four rogues screamed as the car skidded down the alley, ramming trash cans and fire escape ladders, and exploded onto the street like a rocket from a malfunctioning bazooka. The oil-slicked tires spun uselessly on the pavement as they neared the wall.

_Crunch_!

There was a moment of quivering, panic-loaded silence. Then, one by one, they opened their eyes to see a torrent of water shooting directly up and over their vehicle. Water began to pour down, obscuring the windows with thick rivulets of liquid.

They tumbled out of the car. Directly in front of them, wedged under one bumper, was an ancient, rusty fire hydrant. The force of the impact had snapped it cleanly in half.

"You..." Sorrow stammered. "You...you..."

"We're all alive, aren't we?" snapped Jackie, humiliated. "Get back in the car and I'll drive us-"

"NO!" yelped three voices in unison.

"Fine," Jackie grumbled. "_You_ drive." She threw the keys at Sorrow.

Sorrow caught them and held them up as if she was examining a dead fish. "I don't drive," she said, tossing the keys to Grief.

They hit him in the chest and slid to the ground, disappearing under a bubbling stream of water. "I...she..._truck_..." he spluttered.

"He's out," Eddie sighed, scooping up the keys. "I'll drive."

They packed back into the car, Jackie sulking in the passenger seat, and slowly backed out of the deluge. Fortunately, aside from a missing front bumper and a severe case of Leaky Sunroof, the car didn't seem to be too badly damaged.

That is, it wasn't too badly damaged until a passing car driven by a certain pointy-eared vigilante rammed into the trunk. The little green car spun like a top and settled, steaming, into a puddle.

The Batmobile drew up behind them and glided to a menacing halt. Eddie, eyes glued to the rearview mirror, tightened his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Uh, Eddie..." Sorrow said uncertainly. "Go, maybe?" The top of the Batmobile slid open. "Eddie?" Batman rose from his car like Dracula from his coffin. "_Eddie he's getting closer_!" Batman was almost to their back bumper. "_EDDIE_!" Sorrow wailed.

With a grim look of concentration on his face, Eddie stomped on the gas. The car shot forward, sending a spray of water over the vigilante. They roared down the little street, purposefully fishtailing in the hope that it would keep a grappling hook from -

_Chunk!_

...from lodging in the ruins of their trunk and launching Batman at them like a fish on a line. Sorrow and Grief ducked down into the meager floor space and watched tensely as Batman eased himself up the back windshield and onto the roof.

"He's right above us!" Jackie whispered in a thin, shrill voice of absolute terror.

"Not for long," Eddie growled, swerving around a terrified pedestrian.

Suddenly their view was filled with dark, scowling Bat. A black fist slammed into the windshield, sending spiderweb cracks over the entire surface. Two furious eyes under their black cowl scowled menacingly at the Riddler.

Eddie tipped his hat politely. "Batman!" he shouted. "_What's blue and gets rid of corpses?_"

Batman paused, one hand drawn back to deliver another forceful punch to the windshield. The Riddler yanked a lever and twin streams of an unidentified liquid shot out of the car. Instinctively, Batman tucked and rolled away, leaving the liquid to splatter uselessly where he'd been.

"What was that?" Jackie panted, craning her head back to see Batman rapidly receding behind them.

"Windshield washer fluid," Eddie shrugged, yanking the car back onto the expressway. "Good thing he's used to the Joker spraying acid everywhere, hmm?"

"Yeah," muttered Sorrow bitterly as she clambered back into her seat. "Thank goodness the Joker's a complete lunatic."

The battered little car disappeared into the flow of early-morning commuters.

* * *

><p>Robin was not a bad kid. Bad kids don't make it into that coveted red outfit (or if they do, they tend to get blown to pieces by the Joker). This Robin, aka Tim Drake, was a nice boy. He helped little old ladies across the street, he did his chores without being asked, and he knew how to kick a criminal's teeth in using seventeen distinct martial arts styles.<p>

Martial arts was not on his list of things to do that evening, however. He'd been asked - well, _ordered_, really - to sit on a rooftop and watch the comings and goings from a certain warehouse near the interstate. So far, the entire night's notes consisted of a pizza guy and a wobblingly immense woman delivering Chinese food, and they had both been gone by nine. He wasn't surprised. After all, who in their right mind would go outside in the middle of a blisteringly cold Gotham night?

He shifted his shoulders against the icy stone of his hidey-hole and recrossed his legs for the thousandth time, trying to squeeze into what little space the decorative archway afforded him. In his lap, shielded by his cape, a little rectangular screen glowed in the dim morning light.

_Da-da-da-da-Da-da-da-da-Da!_ trilled the device, accompanied by the pained snorts of disappointed pigs and the triumphant cheers of tiny birds. _Irritated Avians_ wasn't technically on his to-do list for that night, either, but it certainly made the long chilly hours go by faster.

The triangular birds and fat green pigs abruptly disappeared from his screen to be replaced with Batman's scowling face. "The Riddler and Sorrow are headed your way," he said gruffly. "Take them down."

"Sure," Robin said, giving his full attention to his mentor. "What are they driving?"

"Green sedan, small, crumpled trunk, missing front bumper, cracked windshield," Batman snapped. Below him, unnoticed, a small green sedan with extensive damage to both ends politely took its turn easing onto the off-ramp.

"I'm on it!" Robin declared, uncoiling into an attentive standing position as Batman disappeared from his screen. He glanced down at the road below to see not a single green car in sight. His gear was ready, he was poised for action, and...well, if they weren't here yet, surely he could play just a _little_ more of his game...

_Da-da-da-da-Da-da-da-da-Da!_

(_to be continued_)


	3. A Heroic Effort

Vacations are perhaps the most necessary out of all the world's non-necessities. Vacations let you see new things and encounter new people (though you may well encounter new things while seeing new people, from living through the storm of flashbulbs that hover around the rich and famous to the rather insistent feeling of a sharp knife against your throat demonstrated by your new friend, the mugger). Vacations give you a chance to put all your worries aside and focus on new ones, like identifying the exact species of insectesque vermin that just sank its fangs into your calf. Vacations, in short, let you leave it all behind - and when that 'all' usually means running from police, running from angry ex-subordinates, or running from a vast array of caped and masked vigilante heroes, leaving it all behind is as vital as that last double-check of the wiring on your deathtraps.

On the other hand, actually _getting there_ can be just as stressful as anything encountered in daily life. The best thing that could possibly happen on a trip is that everything goes perfectly, incidentally stranding you in a never-stopping wheeled box full of people for hours on end. Whoever said that getting there is half the fun must have been the type of person to really _enjoy_ filling out their taxes.

The battered, half-destroyed green car had been replaced by a stolen red one, which was a lovely car in every respect but the tiny, cramped passenger area. Jackie tried to find a comfortable spot in the front seat as the little red car bounced gently along. They zipped past a sign proclaiming "Welcome to South Carolina" that promised Smiling Faces and Beautiful Places. She hoped it wasn't lying.

A nap and a few hours of thought had done a lot to improve Jackie's mood. True, there were two uninvited guests in the backseat, but that didn't mean that they were going to be there the whole time. There was no reason to think that the four of them had to stick together at all times. Besides, from the sound of their muffled conversations, they could use a little alone time as well. Myrtle Beach was a big place. Surely she could manage to fit her romantic vacation in _somewhere_.

Jackie closed her eyes and attempted to drift back off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Eddie's beach house was everything that he had promised. He had promised a seaside view - and yes, the sea probably was down there somewhere forty flights below them, blocked from view by the cascade of greenery tangling downward from the upstairs neighbor's balcony. He had promised privacy - and yes, no one was in the building to bother them, possibly because it was decrepit and falling apart faster than someone being interrogated by Batman for the first time.<p>

"Nice place," Sorrow said, eyebrow raised, as a spider investigated a long-dead chicken carcass disintegrating on the countertop.

"They're supposed to clean up before they leave!" Eddie said, exasperated. "I never should have agreed to time-share with Croc."

"What about the other people?" Jackie asked.

Eddie counted them off on his fingers. "Prison, Arkham, exiled through an interdimensional vortex, stabbed to death with a painting, Phantom Zone..." He shrugged. "A lot of them just don't have time to come down here. I haven't been here in years." Carefully prying a drawer open by the cleanest corner, he dug in it and extracted the local phone book. "Cleaners, cleaners..." he muttered. "Ah!"

With a quick phone call, the cleaners were on their way. "All right. They should be done in a few hours. In the meantime, we have somewhere else to go."

"Like a clothes store?" Sorrow said hopefully, critically eyeing her gray pajamas.

"Well, yes," Eddie said, "but there's somewhere we should go afterward."

"Where?" Jackie asked, most of her attention on a strange multilegged creature climbing up the wall.

"You'll see!" Eddie gave the group his best _I-know-something-you-don't-know_ smile and gestured grandly toward the door.

* * *

><p>Clothes shopping didn't take very long. Anyone who scratched out a career on the edges of Gotham's vast underworld tended to be more interested in staying alive rather than staying well-dressed. Some T-shirts, some jeans, and some jackets transformed the two tagalongs from Obvious Fugitive to Innocent Tourist. Jackie and Eddie also took the opportunity to switch into something a little less question-marked and a little less questionable.<p>

As night began to fall, they clambered back into the car. Eddie, still tight-lipped about their destination, guided the car toward a huge spotlight stabbing into the sky. As they drew closer, they saw that the spotlight was directly on top of a large, round building that somewhat resembled a walled-in coliseum. Two stone torches stood guard around the entrance, which was surrounded by chattering would-be clubgoers in tiny skirts and shiny shirts. Above the door, green light glared into the darkness, spelling out two words.

"_Club Kryptonite_?" Jackie gasped.

"Isn't that a kind of...obvious spot to go hang out?" Sorrow asked from the back seat. A bit more of Jackie's resentment with the two interlopers faded away as Sorrow continued, "And aren't we supposed to be keeping a low profile?"

"Well, yes," Eddie agreed.

"And we're going to a place called Kryptonite? Why don't we just paint _Hello, We're Supervillains_ on the back of the car?"

"We could," said Eddie affably. "No one would care, not even the cops. That's what's so great about this town!"

"And you want us to go dancing?" Jackie ventured. "I don't think we're really dressed for it."

"No, no. The dancing area's just in the front. The real action is right back here." He swung the car into a parking spot and bounded out, leaning back in to beckon enticingly at his three cohorts. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

And, surprisingly, it was. The bouncer guarding the back door had eyed them suspiciously as they approached. But after a token "Riddle me this!" from Eddie, the man had smiled with recognition and obsequiously showed them in to the lavish interior.

The private lounge had definitely had some loving attention paid to it by someone who was very fond of leather. Black leather couches and armchairs clustered in comfortable clumps underneath highly stylized paintings of great moments in history. (Since it was a supervillain bar, the great moments tended to be along the lines of destroyed cities and lightly shredded heroes.) An enormous bar framed with a mosaic of shattered obsidian stretched from wall to wall at the back of the room.

There were also people in the room. They might have been typical tourists in their jeans and sweatshirts. Then again, since the heads poking out of those outfits were either wildly colored, heavily scarred, or normally located on a selection of wanted posters, perhaps not.

A waitress in a crystalline green costume sashayed by. "Can I get anything for you?" she said huskily.

"Dinner," said Eddie decisively. "And a round of drinks for everyone!" The other villains in the room let out a scattered chorus of "Thanks, Ed," before returning to their conversations.

Eddie turned back to his companions. "We'll eat, we'll catch up with everyone, and then we'll go hit the town. Sound good?"

"Fine by me," Sorrow agreed.

"Sure," Jackie shrugged, outwardly nonchalant. Inside, however, she was trying her hardest not to have a massive panic attack in front of all the strange supervillains. Grief, who had a similar look of forcibly subdued terror on his face, nodded silently.

"Great. They serve the world's best crab here." And chattering like a tour guide, Eddie led them to their seats.

* * *

><p>Gotham was a wonderful city to be a pedestrian in. No matter where you were in the city, you could be sure of finding a nearby restaurant or hotel or abandoned something-or-other to play Vigilante Hide-And-Seek in. And if the particular hidey-hole you were looking for was located across town, there were always a plethora of buses and subway trains and easily hijackable cars to get you where you needed to be.<p>

Myrtle Beach was not quite so fortunate. And so, unlike any club in downtown Gotham, Club Kryptonite had a sizeable parking lot around the back. For the knowledgeable, the parking lot was obviously used exclusively by supervillains. Who else would drive a canary-yellow BMW with butter-yellow seats and yellow sidewalls on the tires? Who else but a villain would have glowing green tubes under their car that, instead of neon, were filled with a certain rare element from a certain exploded planet?

The foursome from Gotham picked their way through the dimly lit vehicles, trying to match them with the villains they'd met inside. The car with the blue icicle license plate frame had to be Captain Cold's, and the car with the little pawprint decals climbing the back windshield had to be Cheetah's.

Unfortunately, the car underneath the dark caped figure was theirs. They instinctively froze as the figure bounded off of the car at them, bursting out of the shadows to reveal -

A kid. A scrawny, fuzzy-chinned teenager with pimples peeking out from under his clearly homemade domino mask. The rest of his costume was equally as impressive. Straps covered with pouches looped limply over his bony, naked chest and wrapped snugly around his biking-short clad thighs. A cape that might have once been a red flannel bedsheet wrapped around his throat like a tiny, fraying python and dangled limply down his back to end somewhere around his knobby knees. The ensemble was completed with a pair of black combat boots laced tightly over bright red knee socks. "Stop right there!" he demanded in tones that may have been more threatening if his voice hadn't chosen that moment to break.

"We are stopped," pointed out Sorrow cautiously.

"Right. Uh...I hereby place you under Citizen's Arrest, which is legal under Act 53, section 17-13-20..."

Sorrow leaned close in to Eddie. "Who is this guy?" she asked. (It may be worth pointing out that all of the phrases one may have used in this situation were never uttered by the rogues' gallery. Who is this _clown_, this _joker_, this _lunatic_...these and many more were easy ways to invite bullets into your cranial cavity.)

Eddie studied the youth, who was gabbling on about their rights. "He must be new," Eddie whispered back.

"Hey! Pay attention!" the boy snapped. "You have to listen or it's not legal. Uh...where was I..."

"Who are you?" Eddie asked pleasantly.

"I am Grand Strand Man," the boy said, striking a triumphant pose that was only slightly ruined when his cape caught the wind and flipped up over his head. He wrestled it back into place and perched his hands heroically on his hips.

"Grandstand Man?" Eddie raised an eyebrow.

"Grand. Strand. Man," the boy enunciated carefully.

"Handstand Man?" Jackie asked, joining in the fun.

"GRAND. STRAND. It's the name for all the beaches for sixty miles..." He trailed off at the sight of a rising smirk in four pairs of eyes. "Forget it. Just...forget it. You have the right to...uh..."

"'You have the right to a pepperoni pizza?'" Sorrow suggested brightly.

"No!" he growled.

"Darn. I'm hungry," Jackie chimed in, almost smiling at Sorrow before she remembered that she was supposed to be mad at her for tagging along.

"You...oh, who cares. You're crazy, right? So it doesn't matter what you say, anyway," he shrugged, unzipping one of the massive number of pouches that festooned his torso like seeds on a strawberry.

Myrtle Beach in the winter is normally quite temperate. Nevertheless, the atmosphere directly surrounding them suddenly seemed to be as cold as Mr. Freeze's basement. "I am not crazy," the Riddler said with the kind of quiet menace that made Arkham orderlies instinctively reach for the riot gear.

"Sure you are," the boy said, distracted, fumbling a bundle of tangled handcuffs out of his pouch. "You're the Riddler, aren't you?"

The rogues darted startled looks at one another. "What makes you think he's the Riddler?" inquired Jackie.

The boy paused, holding the awkward metallic ball of restraints. "Don't play stupid with me," he snarled, throwing the permanently knotted cuffs to the ground. "_That_," he pointed at the club, "is Club Kryptonite, and you came out of the back door. The entrance to the _villain room_," he explained, exasperated, as the four of them looked at him with bland innocence stamped on their faces. "I saw you going in and I looked you up on WikiVillainy on my phone. You're the Riddler, and you're his girl that tried to kill Robin, and you're..." he paused. "Well, you're not Poison Ivy, and she's the only redhead I know of in Gotham," he said grumpily. "So you must be _his_ henchgirl, only he wasn't on the wiki either!"

Sorrow, who was perfectly happy not to be as instantly recognizable as Eddie, kept her gloved hands firmly tucked into her windbreaker pockets. "And have you identified anyone else inside?" she asked sweetly.

"That big guy had to be King Snake," he said firmly.

"So why aren't you in there arresting him?" Grief asked the so-called hero who looked as if he'd been built out of matchsticks and hope.

"I...just..._shut up_!" the boy yelped. "I'm arresting _you_, right now, and there's nothing you can do about it!" He yanked a set of zip-tie cuffs from yet another pouch and fanned them out. "Line up!"

They eyed the boy up and down. He didn't appear to have any high-tech weaponry or magic gizmos. He certainly couldn't be planning to overpower them with his awesome muscles, because he didn't have any.

With a small, polite smile on his face, Eddie stepped forward. "Let's go," he said, beckoning the other three forward.

"Seriously?" the boy yelped disbelievingly. Then, remembering that he was the one in the cape, he gruffly barked "Yes. Hands out to be cuffed - get _back here_!" he wailed as they walked right past him and climbed into their car. "Where are you going?"

"You're the..._ahem_...superhero," Sorrow smirked as she slid into the back seat. "You figure it out."

"I'm not done with you!" he screamed as they pulled out of their spot. "I'll arrest you, you'll see! I'll do it!"

(_to be continued_)

_Author's Note: Club Kryptonite is (was) a real place in Myrtle Beach. It's true! _


	4. Little Things

No rogue operated in Gotham without quickly developing a healthy respect for non-powered heroes. Some people - caped, cowled, and chiropteran - didn't need to be mutated or blessed by the gods or gifted with an alien heritage in order to make you really, intensely sorry to have been caught.

Of course, not everyone could be the superstar of the superheroes. Yes, Gotham had its world-famous ranks of heroes watching out for her. What the world never heard about were the washouts.

Every little Gotham child wanted to grow up to be Batman. As the years passed, most of them developed more realistic goals - lawyer, cashier, petty thief - and dismissed their dream as the unrealistic possibility that it was.

The handful that held on to that dream, however, spent their time in the gyms (if they were halfway smart) and in front of a mirror in their costumes (if they were not). They worked and sweated until that magical day when they went into Gotham's back streets, armed with makeshift theme weaponry and determination, and were promptly stomped into the street by whoever happened to be passing by.

The Riddler had dealt with his fair share of washouts. It had ranged from the vaguely irritating - a woman claiming to be 'Nightmask Iceheart' that had been left next to the Batsignal in a puzzle-bow trap - to the effortless defeat of the man who, spiderlike, had suction-cupped his way across the ceiling only to lose his grip and land facedown in a pile of rotten fish stinking up the back of Eddie's warehouse hideout. Nine times out of ten, the washouts ended up defeating themselves. They were nothing to worry about, and that's exactly what he told his compatriots.

"But what if he tells the police about us?" Jackie asked, trying to hide exactly how nervous that possibility made her by fussing with a frayed patch in the couch.

"He won't," Eddie assured her.

"But how do you _know_?" Grief asked, fingers twitching nervously together in his lap.

"I don't," he smiled affably. "It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't _matter_?" Sorrow repeated incredulously. "How could it not matter?"

"An easy question," Eddie smirked, settling down in a somewhat worn leather armchair. "I drive men mad for love of me, easily beaten, never free_._" He beamed expectantly at his audience.

The three other rogues looked at each other uncertainly. _Easily beaten_ the Riddler certainly was, provided that Batman was his opponent. But driving men mad for love of him...he _couldn't_ be referring to himself...could he?

Grief, who in better times had been a psychiatrist, hesitantly cleared his throat. "Um...it's been a long day. Maybe you'd...uh...feel better...if you laid down."

Eddie's amusement crumpled into annoyance. "It's a _riddle_," Jackie said quickly. Then, hesitantly, she turned to Eddie. "Right?"

"Right!" he nodded.

"Oh!" they chimed, visibly relieved that he was sticking to a more established form of lunacy. "So what's the answer?" Sorrow asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Gold," Eddie smiled. "Money's always the answer for questions like this. Do you honestly think that all the world's rogues could come here on vacation and never do anything wrong? This town's police force is so heavily bribed that I'm surprised their badges aren't carved out of diamonds." He sank back into the overstuffed chair. "Even if the kid did turn us in, they wouldn't dream of _doing_ anything about it."

"Are you sure?" Jackie asked tentatively. "I mean, what if one of them doesn't want a bribe?"

Eddie shrugged. "They know that their town's safe as long as they ignore us. If they start bothering us, we'll start bothering them back." He grinned wolfishly. "And we're better at it than they are."

* * *

><p>The first day of their vacation was spent sleeping in. Rogues were creatures of the night, and this particular foursome of night-creatures had been forced to spend the preceding day and night running from Batman, driving to South Carolina, and partying with a selection of supervillains, not to mention their all-too-brief run-in with the kid in the stupid cape and the following discussion when they'd gotten back to the apartment. Sleep had reached the top of everyone's to-do list shortly after they'd returned home.<p>

Jackie woke up and blearily squinted at the clock. Eleven AM? Way too early to get up. She flopped back down and rolled over, wincing at the squeak of the springs. On the pillow next to hers, the Riddler slept quietly, one arm thrown up above his head as if he were dancing a flamenco.

He was cute when he was asleep. Jackie drew herself up onto her side, resting on one arm, and gazed down at him. He was cute when he was awake, too, she supposed, but there was something different about seeing him asleep. There was no look of distracted happiness as he plotted his next great idea, no expression of smug glee as he waited for an answer to his riddles, no sense of that wonderful mind of his working on twelve levels at once. He was just Eddie, sleeping and safe.

She trailed her fingers over his bare chest, hesitantly touching the spiderweb of scars that stretched across his skin. The sleeve of her silk question-marked pajamas ghosted across the remains of a long-ago burn. He flinched away in his sleep, muttering something indistinct, and rolled over.

His back was even more torn up than his chest - probably the souvenir of countless trips through windows and various encounters with bat-weaponry. Four neat holes pocked the skin on his shoulder, spaced almost perfectly to fit a...a fork? Could that be right? Long, twining scars with tiny lines railroading across them had to be from surgery. He looked like a child's toy that had been painstakingly reassembled time and again only to get ripped apart during the next playtime.

She bit her lip. The vigilantes played rough - _too_ rough. How could they possibly justify doing this to him? That night that Robin had hurt him at the opera house - how many nights had they broken his bones and made him bleed for no reason? Okay, yes, at the time he'd been holding the MC hostage, but he'd _surrendered_. He hadn't even had a gun! And yet Robin had attacked him as if he was putting up a fight, which would have been difficult to do from Eddie's wheezing, wincing position on the floor.

Fierce protectiveness welled up inside Jackie. No more. They weren't going to hurt him again if _she_ had anything to do about it. Impulsively, she clutched Eddie tightly to her.

He came awake in a burst of frantic flailing. Jackie threw herself backward, out of reach of his unpredictable thrashing, and yelped "Eddie! It's just me!"

The thrashing slowed. "You're not...oh. Sorry," he muttered, nestling back down in the blankets. "Bad dream."

"What about?" she asked hesitantly.

"Arkham. Bolton," he clarified sleepily.

"Who?"

"Not important. Go back to sleep, pumpkin." He gathered her in an arm and gave her a sleepy kiss on the forehead. Then, with a small smile quirking the corners of his mouth, he fell back asleep.

Jackie laid her head on his scarred chest, smiling at the feel of his arm around her. "Smartass," she whispered lovingly. Then, ignoring the sun, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

><p>Their first night out called for something special. Something fun, something easy, something that wouldn't involve any effort beyond standing up and being conscious. "Mini-golf," Eddie said decisively over breakfast. (The fact that it was four in the afternoon didn't matter. Breakfast was breakfast, even if it should have been dinner.)<p>

"Mini-golf?" Sorrow repeated.

"You'll love it!" Grief chirped, happy to contribute to the conversation. "It's like golf, but it's actually fun!"

And so, after "breakfast", they piled into the car and went on a quest for mini-golf. Myrtle Beach seemed to have hundreds of miniature golf courses, littered with everything from robotic dinosaurs to flaming volcanoes. Unfortunately, there was one thing that all of these courses had in common - the "CLOSED" signs adorning each entryway.

"This is ridiculous. There has to be one that's open!" Eddie sighed, backing out of yet another empty driveway.

"It's okay," Sorrow said reassuringly from the back. "We don't have to go."

"But you'll like it!" Grief insisted. "It's fun, you'll see. I know it's not tourist season, but there's got to be _someone_ still open."

"There's one!" Jackie interrupted, pointing eagerly down the road at a lot full of brightly painted sculptures illuminated by bright spotlights.

The parking lot was empty except for one lone truck stuffed with gardening equipment. The four rogues crunched past it, feet slipping slightly on the gravel, and made their way onto the well-groomed path leading inside. A large wooden clock looked down on the path.

"Where do you get a twelve-foot-tall cuckoo clock?" Sorrow asked, bemused, as they walked toward it.

"The problem is getting a six-foot-tall cuckoo," Grief smiled, protesting with a yelp as Sorrow elbowed him exaggeratedly in the ribs. They drew to a halt beneath it, curiously studying the curling, swooping scrollwork that had been delicately carved in nearly every surface of the enormous timepiece.

The clock creaked as the minute hand ticked onto the twelve. A blast of fanfare blared tinnily out of a speaker half-hidden by a bush as two large doors began to slide open.

Batman and Superman burst out of the openings. Jackie yelped and dove behind Eddie, peering around his shoulder to see Sorrow ripping at the wrists of her gloves. Eddie frantically patted himself down, trying to find the weapons that he'd left at home. No gun (and no holster, either), no exploding question marks in his jacket, no deathtraps in his pockets! The heroes looked down at them, raised their arms and began...

Singing.

"_From Gotham to Metropolis, no evil can stand up to this!"_ they sang, mouths moving jerkily open and shut with no particular synchronization to the lyrics. "_Criminals will run in fear when heroes such as we appear_!"

Sorrow yanked her gloves back on. "Oh, yes. Mini-golf was a _great_ idea," she said, turning to tug Grief out from his impromptu hiding spot behind the trash can. Behind her, wooden cutouts of the Flash, Green Lantern, and a wide variety of other heroes popped out from their hiding spots around the clock in rhythm with the scratchy music.

"Mini-golf's always a great idea!" A fat man in a Justice League t-shirt beamed at them from beyond the entranceway to the course. "Name's Luke, Luke McCall, and this is my place. Like my clock? It is a lil' bit of a surprise when you're not expectin' it," he added, noticing the residual signs of panicked aggression among the four of them.

"It certainly is...unique," Eddie said, watching as the grinning Batman figure retreated back into the shadows of his hidey-hole.

"That it is!" beamed Luke. "Only one like it in the world." He leaned conspiratorially closer. "Used to be a kiddie clock. Had all the characters on it - the Super Pets, the Backyardios, Moira the Explorer...the big two in the middle were the sponge and the starfish. Kids loved it, but it drove the adults crazy with all the voices." He smiled, beckoning them toward the course. "Heroes are better. Everyone loves superheroes, and they don't have crazy theme songs. My nephew's big into art, and he fixed the clock up for me in no time. Redid the whole course to match it! So, do you want nine or the full eighteen? Full eighteen's the best bargain," he wheedled, waving them toward the little shack that housed the equipment and the register. "Winter special, half off the second nine! What size clubs can I get you?"

"The only _club_ they need to worry about is _Club Fed_!" Grand Strand Man, perched on the obliging arm of a giant plaster Wonder Woman, pointed dramatically at the four rogues. He slid down Wonder Woman's combat-poised torso, pouches flapping in the breeze, and executed a completely unnecessary somersault before rolling to his feet.

"Club Fed? That's the best you could do?" Eddie said scornfully.

"Have you been following us?" Sorrow asked suspiciously.

Grand Strand Man snorted indignantly. "I happened to be on patrol," he said loftily. "And anyway, everyone knows that all the villains stay at those condos."

Luke's face glowed red with well-fed indignation. "_Jimmy Velasquez_," he snarled.

"Don't tell them my secret identity!" shushed Grand Strand Man, far too late.

Luke ignored the interruption. "Have you been bothering these fine folks? They're out for a nice game of mini-golf - they don't need some kid in a costume trying to scare them off!"

"But Luke," whined the boy, "they're _supervillains_!"

Luke looked disbelievingly at the group of city-pale tourists in T-shirts and jeans. "Don't look like any supervillains to me."

"They are!" Jimmy said urgently. "That one's the Riddler, and that one's Sorrow - you _were_ on the wiki," he added triumphantly, glancing in her direction, "and those two are their henchmen! Well, that one's a henchgirl. Henchpeople! They...work for...them," he trailed off, wilting under Luke's disapproving glare.

"Jimmy," Luke said slowly, "do you remember what happened last month?"

"That really was Professor Zoom!" Jimmy shouted. "He just didn't have his costume on!"

"You kicked up a fuss and got just about every cop in town down here to arrest some poor man who only came here to have some fun! He wasn't a supervillain - wasn't even a villain! Never even had a parking ticket!"

"He was _evil_!" Jimmy wailed.

"He was a nice young man!" Luke shot back. "He didn't even press charges - which he could have done, let me tell you, and you'd have been in juvenile hall quicker than two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"He didn't press charges because he was using a fake ID and he would have been found out if -"

"Jimmy," Luke cut him off sternly. "Go home."

"But - "

"Go _home_," Luke repeated. "Or do I need to call your ma again and tell her what you've been up to?"

Jimmy looked at the ground, dejected. "No, sir." He darted a poisonous look at the four snickering rogues. "Don't think this changes anything," he hissed as he passed them.

"No, not at all..._Jimmy_," giggled Sorrow.

"Say hello to your mom for us," smiled Eddie, in the bright, cheerful tones of someone who knew perfectly well that it would only increase the hot, seething rage boiling inside the listener.

"I'm sorry about that, folks," Luke said, watching to make sure that Grand Strand Man left his property. "He's got these crazy ideas. Like the Riddler ever goes on vacation," he snorted. "Man with that kind of money wouldn't come here, anyway. Probably got his own island somewhere."

"Maybe," said Eddie thoughtfully.

"Let me get you those clubs," Luke offered, heading into the shack. "Back nine's on me today."

* * *

><p>The course was actually quite nice, once they got inside. Okay, so it was plastered with their least favorite kind of people, and okay, it still had the occasional caped duck or talking vegetable tucked in the bushes, but at least it was private.<p>

The four of them stood in a loose semicircle, examining the sixth hole. A giant squid loomed up before them, perched on the top of a gently sloping ramp and surrounded by an unnaturally blue lake. Tentacles stretched in roller-coaster twirls to the green, which was accessible by a little wooden bridge.

"You're up first," Eddie said, glancing at the scorecard. Sorrow dropped her ball and nudged it into place with her sneakered foot. Then, taking a wiggly moment to settle her stance, she whacked wildly at the ball, clipping it with the tip of her club. The ball obligingly rolled up the ramp, barely making it into the squid's beak and disappearing into the darkness.

It reappeared on the tentacle directly behind the squid, rolling to a halt in a small cuplike depression formed by a few gaudily painted suckers. An orange-and-green clad figure burst out of the water, splattering dyed water in a wide circle, and waved one commanding hand. The tentacle obediently creaked out of the water and formed a ramp leading directly to the green, where the ball rolled neatly into the hole.

As robo-Aquaman sunk slowly back below the surface, Eddie slunk back out from behind the handy bush that had made such a wonderful hiding spot a second or two earlier. "You're scared of Aquaman?" Sorrow asked lightly, not having moved from the tee.

"Speaking as a man with absolutely zero superpowers, yes - I'd have to say that I'm scared of a man who has the power to throw a great white shark at my head," Eddie snapped, embarrassed.

"Good point," Sorrow admitted. "You're up."

Three robo-Aquaman attacks later, they arrived at the seventh hole. The cheerful foliage on this hole was blocked by eight-foot-high dark buildings made from slabs of concrete. The rooftops were full of doll-sized vigilantes. Robin clung to the side of a giant antenna, smiling and waving at the players. Nightwing and Batgirl stood on opposite corners of one building, scanning the night for evil. A little purple-daubed Barbie doll was superglued awkwardly in the window of one building, legs held stiffly out in front of her. Chips in the concrete above her marked the home of the original Huntress, who had probably been stolen by teenagers long ago. At the top of one building, glaring steadily into the dark, was a little Batsignal. A life-sized Batman crouched menacingly behind the hole, a Batarang held tightly in one upraised hand.

"Just like home," Eddie joked uneasily. "Who's first?"

"Me," Jackie said, rolling her ball onto the little black rubber square with her foot. She glanced down at it, shifting her weight, and looked back at the hole. Batman stood there, motionless, cape carved as if it were flaring in the nighttime Gotham wind.

She scowled. If it wasn't for Batman, those other two wouldn't be there interfering with their vacation. If it wasn't for Batman, they wouldn't have had to run out of Gotham like mice fleeing a panther. If it wasn't for Batman, Eddie wouldn't have gotten all those scars or burns or -

She swung the putter, perhaps a little harder than she intended. It flew out of her hands in a perfect line drive and smashed Batman right between the eyes, leaving him with a silly, crosseyed expression better seen on a baby goat.

Wild applause from three mischievous sets of hands echoed from behind her. "Whoops," she muttered, sidling up the green to retrieve her club. As she trudged up the gentle incline, Sorrow and Grief began whispering to each other.

"This hole creeps me out," Sorrow announced, settling her club on her shoulder. "We're going to skip ahead."

"Really?" Eddie asked, eyebrow raised. After all, the plaster Batman wasn't _that_ intimidating...

The two other rogues looked almost bashfully at one another. "Yeah," Sorrow shrugged. "You know. Just...over there."

"Oh. Have fun," Eddie said, catching on. The two rogues, sidekick and boss, walked off together, hand-in-gloved-hand. Eddie took a seat on a nearby bench, tapping his putter idly on the ground as if it was his cane.

"They left?" Jackie asked, returning with her slightly plastery putter.

"For a while." He shifted uncomfortably. "I think they wanted to be...alone."

"Really?" Jackie said happily. "Great!"

Eddie sighed. "Look, I know you're not happy they came along." He fiddled with the top of his putter. "She's...well, she's had a bad year. Him too. The last thing anyone needed was for the two of them to go to Arkham that night."

Jackie slid into the open seat on the bench. "I was pretty mad," she admitted. "But..." She bit her lip, then tentatively snuggled a little closer. "Even if they are here...I think I can be around anyone as long as I'm with you."

He smiled, wrapping his arm around her. She squeezed his knee in reply. They turned their faces toward each other, eyes sparkling in the moonlight, and leaned in for a perfect k-

"Oh, come _on_!" whined a voice somewhere above them. They jerked apart, leaping to their feet, to see Jimmy Velasquez in his ill-fitting costume perched in a nearby tree. "You're _villains_! Break a bench! Steal some money! Do _something_!"

"Go _home_!" Eddie snapped, red-faced and furious.

"I'm going," Grand Strand Man said threateningly. "But I'm _watching_ you." He retreated, hopping from tree to tree, cursing as his cape caught on the foliage.

"I'm going to have to do something about that kid," Eddie growled.

"Not if I catch him first," Jackie said, absently throttling her putter.

He nodded, wearing a half-distracted expression that meant that someone was going to regret spying on him as soon as he figured out what to do about it. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

(_to be continued_)


	5. New Ideas

Cooking is a mystical art that properly requires years of intensive study and practice before one should even think of picking up a whisk. It must be. After all, if even Bruce Wayne, the Batman himself, can't cook, it surely must require the kind of skill that only a true devotee could summon.

It also might explain the little puffs of smoke rising from the stovetop. "How's it going over there?" Jackie asked tentatively.

"Fine!" Sorrow and Grief declared simultaneously. They scuffled briefly, snatching things out of one another's hands in an attempt to stop their breakfast from carbonizing.

Rather than distract them and lose yet another residence to rogue-induced ravening flames, Jackie settled back in the battered wooden chair and rested her hands on the table, toying with a napkin. She darted a sidelong glance at Eddie.

The Riddler had not taken last night's interruption well. He scowled at the table, drumming his fingers heavily on his placemat. Grand Strand Man needed a serious dose of revenge, and the Riddler was just the person to wield the syringe of retribution.

The thumping of his fingers slowed as a look of dawning evil broke across Eddie's face. "Did you think of something?" Jackie asked, jumping upright in her seat.

"Oh yes," he grinned, staring into the distance.

"What is it?"

"It's perfect."

"But what _is_ it?"

"Ooooh, he's going to _hate_ it."

Jackie bounced impatiently. "Tell me already!"

He turned a wide, beaming grin in her direction. "We do...nothing."

"Nothing? _Nothing_ is your plan?" Jackie asked, disappointed.

"Exactly." He chuckled to himself. "Think about it," he continued, settling comfortably back into his chair. "What does he want us to do? _Break a bench, steal some money_," he mocked, trying to mimic Grand Strand Man's petulant expression. "He wants us to do something illegal so that he can get us arrested. He'd probably turn us in for jaywalking at this point."

"I thought the cops were paid off," Sorrow commented, dubiously poking an egg with the tip of her spatula.

"They are," Eddie assured her. "I can't imagine that _he_ knows that, though." He took a sip of his coffee, reveling in the jolt of caffeine with a look on his face like a cat's in the sun. "If we do nothing, _he_ does nothing. Stalemate."

"Works for me," Sorrow said, carefully transferring a plate of eggs to the table. Miraculously, they only appeared to be slightly scorched. "Breakfast," she announced, taking a seat.

Grief carried a frying pan over to the trash can and scraped out half a pig's worth of blackened bacon. "At least there's toast."

"The toast!" Sorrow scrambled over to the toaster oven. The door slid open to reveal four black hockey pucks that might have been bread in a previous life. "Great."

"Thank goodness for Cheerios," Grief said, retrieving the box.

* * *

><p>The vacation drifted onward, as vacations do. They wandered through the endless parade of cookie-cutter beachwear shops, which were glowing with neon and stocked with enough cheap gimcrackery to fill a thousand trailer parks. They wound through the endless exhibits in the virtually abandoned tourist museums, examining everything from a matchstick roller coaster to a wax figure display of the Justice League. Aquariums, zoos, swamps and casinos blurred together into one long wave of time-filling, mildly entertaining activity. (One might think it ridiculous that a foursome of fearsome criminals would bother wasting their time in tourist traps. Then again, at least one of the four was known to wear full-body spandex in public and expect to be respected, proving that good taste did not necessarily go hand-in-hand with infamy.)<p>

Naturally, wherever they went, they remained on their best behavior. True, Grand Stand Man was a teenager, and thus they were safe during school hours. But in the afternoon, as soon as the buses began trundling down the streets, he'd be on his way to track them down and stare at them from behind the nearest handy barrier. They took extra care to be polite and helpful whenever they noticed that angry, pimply glare burning at them from a hiding spot.

It had become a fantastic game. One day, Eddie had gone for the gold, scooping up a woman's fallen purse and handing it back to her with a friendly smile. When she'd thanked him and hurried on, he'd turned that friendly smile to a nearby bush and winked devilishly. The bush shook as its inhabitant had growled with fury.

But today they'd managed to give him the slip (which wasn't hard, given that Myrtle Beach had a population of twenty-two thousand people to blend in with) and they'd headed straight for the beach.

Sea oats and seagrass clustered atop tiny dunes at the borders of civilization. The beach was empty, silent except for the rhythmic crashing of the waves. No people frisked along the shoreline. No toddlers patted castles into shape with fat little hands. On the other hand, there were no handy bushes for Grand Strand Man to lurk behind, something that made everyone a little more relaxed.

They hadn't bothered with swimming gear. Even though Myrtle Beach felt like warm, toasty heaven after the bitter cold of a Gotham winter, it was still January and it was still too cool to swim. Instead, Eddie and Jackie wandered to the shoreline, pants rolled to their knees, and indulged in some playful splash-fighting.

Sorrow, wrapped in her windbreaker, scowled uneasily up and down the sand. Grief, sprawled lazily on an oversized blanket, snuggled up next to his boss, resting his head on her thigh. "I love the beach," he said dreamily. "It's so peaceful. Couldn't you live here forever?"

Sorrow shook her head. "I don't like it."

"What?" He squinted up at her, puzzled. In the water, Jackie shrieked as Eddie scored a direct hit on her bright blue T-shirt. "What's not to like?"

Sorrow shrank a little deeper into her jacket. "I don't _like_ it!" She darted a glance behind her. She wasn't used to all of this...this _space_. She'd been born and raised in Gotham, where every building was a bolthole and every alley was an escape route. The thought of an empty plain - an empty plain that you couldn't even run quickly on! - was unsettling at best. "I can't wait to get back to Gotham," she muttered, poking a hole in the sand with one gloved finger.

"Back?" He sat up slightly, bracing himself on an elbow as he turned to face her. "Why do we have to go back?"

She smiled halfheartedly at him. "We can't stay on vacation forever, doofus."

"No. I'm being serious," he insisted, pulling himself up into a crosslegged position. "Why do we need to go back to Gotham?"

"Because!" she said, taken aback. "Because...we do." Since she was technically his boss, she could probably try to play the time worn "Because I say so" card. On the other hand, she didn't think that was going to knock that determined look he always got when he didn't want to let a topic go off of his face.

Eddie and Jackie, soaking wet and grinning, bounded back up the sand and flopped down onto their own blanket. Jackie snatched up her jacket and bundled herself into it, sticking out her tongue at Eddie when he chuckled at her. "Just because _you_ don't get cold," she said haughtily.

"Eddie," Sorrow interrupted, raking her red-blonde hair back from her face. "Tell him why we have to go back to Gotham."

He shrugged, stretching out on the blanket to catch a few meager rays of sun. "It's where we live," he suggested lazily.

"But why do we have to live _there_?" Grief pressed. "Couldn't we just...go somewhere else? Or stay here? Here's nice."

Eddie snorted disdainfully. "You can if you want to. I _like_ Gotham."

Jackie snuggled up beside him, draping a jacket-clad arm over his chest. "I'm with him," she said loyally. "Gotham may be filthy and freezing, but it's home."

"It's where the henchmen are," Sorrow added thoughtfully.

"It's where the money is," Eddie agreed.

"It's where the _Batman_ is!" Grief exploded, waving his hands frantically in the air. "You can't all sit there and tell me you're willing to just...walk right back to him! We got away from him once! If we go back, he's going to kill us!"

"Nah. He doesn't kill anybody," Eddie said, mostly ignoring him. "At least, not on purpose," he added as an afterthought.

"But-"

Sorrow silenced him by grabbing his chin. He stared at her, desperate-eyed and open-mouthed. "Listen," she said. "I'm going back to Gotham. You can do whatever you want." She dropped his chin and looked away, fiddling with the fingertip on one glove.

"I want to stay with you," he said desperately, "but-"

She shoved him back down onto the blanket. He lay there, stunned. "Then lay back, relax, and enjoy the last two weeks of your vacation," she instructed. "Eat. Drink. Be merry."

"Speaking of which," Eddie said, "Le Crabe Énorme has a guest chef in this week."

"Crab?" Sorrow wrinkled her nose. "You go. Seafood and I don't get along."

"Your loss," Eddie said, tilting his face toward the sun.

* * *

><p>"...and the <em>dessert<em>! Oh my god, what was _in_ that?" Jackie asked rapturously as she clicked into the apartment on sharp black heels.

Eddie chuckled and closed the door behind them. "Chocolate," he answered.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah. Chocolate. I might have missed that, otherwise. It was only a chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream and chocolate syrup and shaved chocolate and _heaven_ in it!" She flounced on the couch with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Sorrow? Grief?" Eddie called toward the back hallway. No one answered. "They must still be out," he shrugged, settling down next to Jackie. She shook her uncomfortable shoes off, sighing with relief as she wriggled her pantyhose-covered toes into the soft pile of the carpet.

"Why do you wear those if they're so uncomfortable?" he asked lightly.

"I dunno. You tell me...Echo," she teased.

He scowled briefly at her, then held his nose aloft in an exaggerated display of haughty scorn. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about," he sniffed. "Besides, no one was trying to kill us tonight."

"Yeah. It was nice," she smiled. "No ex-girls, no cops..."

"No Nightwing," he added, thinking back to their first disastrous dinner outing.

"Yeah," she repeated. "It was nice to be alone...just the two of us."

"Yeah," he agreed softly. He toyed with a curly lock of Jackie's hair, letting it wind silkily around and around his fingers. A tingly thrill raced down the back of Jackie's neck. "Just the two of us."

Jackie's heart hammered in her chest. Softly, gently, she slid up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, cuddling her closer.

Jackie had never been in love before - at least, not with anyone who may have loved her back - and her inner thoughts were being short-circuited with panic. What was she doing? the rational bit of her brain screamed. Here she was, five hundred miles away from home, sitting on a couch with a supervillain and _cuddling_ him! Had she lost her mind?

Hopefully! answered the rest of her. She was being held by the man she loved. Nothing else beyond that mattered.

She raised her head and softly kissed the edge of his jaw. He smiled, tracing his fingertips lightly over her cheek, and pressed his lips to hers, one hand nestled in her hair. She let her hand roam to his chest, where she toyed gently with his shirt buttons beneath his tie.

The delicious silence in the room was broken by a soft rustling noise. Immediately, they broke apart, scrambling off of the couch. "What was that?" Jackie hissed.

"It was outside," Eddie whispered back, trick cane already in hand. Slowly, he padded to the window, placing himself just in reach of the miniblind strings.

Jackie hoisted a metal statuette and wrapped one hand around it as if it were a club. If it was Batman out there, they were in deep trouble. If it was Grand Strand Man, _he_ was in deep trouble. And if it was -

Eddie yanked the blinds up. Outside, resting against the window, was nothing more heroic than a pair of vines swaying in the breeze. They brushed against the window, leaves scraping against the screen. Eddie sighed a short sharp sigh of irritation and dropped the string, letting the blinds crash back down into place.

Jackie put the statuette back, adjusting it until it sat squarely on the little table. When she looked back to Eddie, she saw that Eddie was already looking at her.

"I, uh...guess I'll go get out of this dress," she said, uncomfortably tugging on the skirt. He nodded, beginning to turn back to the couch.

She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Unless..." she paused.

"Unless?"

"Unless you'd...like to help?" she suggested, blushing furiously.

He caught her in a hug and kissed her firmly. Then, with the same anticipatory smile on both their faces, they disappeared into the bedroom.

(_to be continued_)


	6. Caught!

Love is never easy. In books, in songs, in movies - in practically every form of media ever created - the troubles of being in love have been laid out for all to see. Love may be patient and kind, but it can also be cruel and stupid.

Troy Grey lay sleeplessly in his bed, absently rolling a piece of lint between his fingers as he stared at the slowly rotating ceiling fan. Beside him, the woman he loved shifted restlessly in her sleep.

It wasn't fair. He had done everything he could to keep her safe. When he'd been her doctor, he'd braved the terrors of staff meetings and fought to get her out of the high-security floor. That hadn't worked, so he'd quit his job in an explosion of temper and sought her out in the depths of Gotham, wanting only to warn her about what waited for her back at Arkham. But through a long and complex series of misunderstandings, he'd wound up in a costume, at Batman's mercy, and eventually he'd found himself locked away in a cell of his very own. He'd braved Poison Ivy's wrath, Harley Quinn's cooking, and the ever-present threat of broken bones from the Batman...and for what?

He'd thought that getting out of town would be the hard part. He'd never thought about going back. He'd assumed that, now that they were safe, she would give up her life of crime so that they could go somewhere and be normal. No costumes. No vigilantes. No terror-filled races down the sidewalk, expecting every moment to be knocked to the ground and delivered back to hell with a kick in the ribs just to remind them of how much they deserved it.

He'd tried so hard to convince her to leave Gotham last night as they'd walked on the beach. As the icy water lapped around their feet, he'd brought up every argument and fact at his command, even going so far as to point out what exactly was waiting for them in the depths of Arkham if they ever got caught again. The moonlight had let him see just enough of her stubborn, fixed expression to know that he was failing miserably.

Sorrow _wanted_ to go back. He couldn't understand it.

Bowls rattled in the kitchen. Sorrow rolled over, blinking sleepily at him. "Morning," she greeted blearily.

"Morning," he repeated.

"Sounds like breakfast," she said, arching back into a stretch. She slipped out of bed, wrapping a soft purple bathrobe around her silky pajamas. "You coming?" she asked, padding toward the door.

Grief slid out of bed and obediently followed, mind still buzzing with sullen disbelief and half-proved arguments.

The Riddler and his henchgirl were already sitting at the kitchen's little table. "Good morning," Jackie smiled, taking a bite of her cereal.

"There's nothing good about it," Sorrow said, wandering over to the refrigerator. Grief sat listlessly at the table, pouring himself a glass of juice. "Do you think this place has rats?"

"Rats?" Jackie darted quick looks at the floorboards as if a rat might be perched at her feet like a dog begging for scraps.

"Yeah. I kept hearing this weird squeaking noise last night," Sorrow said, rummaging in the crisper. Eddie and Jackie froze, carefully not looking at each other. "Sounded like rats to me. You didn't hear them?"

Eddie coughed. "No," he said, "I don't think so." Jackie bent her head down toward her cereal bowl, staring intently at the little bits of processed grain as they floated merrily in the milk.

"Squeak squeak squeak 'til three in the morning," Sorrow grumbled, emerging from the refrigerator with an apple. "I vote we buy some rat traps."

"Uh...sure," Eddie agreed, taking extreme interest in his glass of milk. Beside him, Jackie toyed with her spoon, barely visible behind the veil of her hair.

_At least _someone_ had a good time last night_, Grief thought grumpily.

"So...plans for today?" Sorrow asked, slicing her apple on the countertop.

The Riddler started chattering about some stupid tourist attraction, obviously glad to change the subject. Grief ignored him, staring into the opaque depths of his orange juice.

He obviously couldn't try asking the other two to help him persuade Sorrow to stay out of Gotham. He should have remembered earlier that the Riddler would probably rather cut off his own leg rather than give up battling wits with Batman. No, he'd have to think of something else...

* * *

><p>Broadway at the Beach was a place that had everything. If you wanted to mini-golf under the eyes of a dragon, you could do it there - provided that you had planned your visit in nearly any month that wasn't February. If you wanted to put on your robe and wizard hat and fight the goblin king, you could do it there. If you wanted to lay on a bed of nails inside an upside-down building - why yes, you could do it there. Somebody had very carefully tried to pack something to please everybody inside of one circled highway.<p>

It was one of the few places that the rogues hadn't fully explored in the three weeks that they'd been in Myrtle Beach. They strolled through the shopping area, peeking through dark windows and gated doors to see what lay on the other side. The restaurants, the only thing open at this time of night, sat in puddles of light, sound, and activity amidst the generally deserted boardwalks.

A diner in an outdoor cafe abandoned his meal and hurried up to them. "Hey. Nygma, right?" he greeted.

"No," Eddie denied instantly.

"But...oh. Right." The man fumbled in his pocket and drew out a card. The Club Kryptonite logo, in metallic green, gleamed at the top of the little rectangle of off-white paper. Underneath the logo, embossed in shiny silver, were three words: Sean Cole, Deliveries. "I saw you at the club a while back. I've got a package for you. Been there for years. You gonna be here long? I can go get it. Club K's just down the road a bit."

"Ah...sure," Eddie agreed.

"Great! Two seconds and I'll be back," he assured them, trotting off down the boardwalk. As promised, he returned almost inhumanly quickly, a small box tucked under his arm. Perhaps he had some sort of speed powers. It sounded like a good explanation to Eddie. After all, if your job involved delivering things to people who tended to shoot the messenger, it was probably a good idea to be able to get away from them as soon as you could. "Here you are," he offered, holding it out to them. The shoebox-sized package, wrapped in black paper, bore no identifying marks other than a question mark imprinted on it in green spangles.

"Thanks," Eddie said, gingerly taking it. The delivery man, not bothering to wait for a tip, hopped the fence back into the restaurant and resumed his dinner.

Eddie gently peeled the paper from the box. It wouldn't be the first time someone had attempted to kill him from a distance. He stuffed the paper in a nearby trash can and carefully opened the lid.

"So what's in the box?" Sorrow asked, peering over Jackie's shoulder.

"It's..." Eddie beamed. "My miniguns! I'd forgotten all about them!"

To anyone familiar with weaponry, the miniguns themselves seemed almost ludicrously disappointing. Instead of being traditional miniguns - ie, something with about the same weight and destructive capacity as a pair of toddlers - they were literally miniature guns, somewhat similar to itty-bitty double-barreled shotguns. Question marks curled decoratively around them like tiny golden snakes.

"What are they?" Jackie asked, curiously turning one over in her hands as Eddie strapped on the specially-made holster belt.

"They're little lasers," he said, slipping one into its holster. Its gold question mark of a handle rested brightly against his dark shirt. "They're strong enough to burn through bricks, but that's about it."

"And that's useful?"

"Useful enough," he shrugged. "Why use a sledgehammer where a rock will do?" He slid the other one into its holster, tucking his jacket down over the glinting question marks.

The four rogues wandered off, chatting amiably among themselves. Behind them, unnoticed, a red-gloved hand slipped into the trash can and removed the black paper. In the darkness behind a potted plant, a pair of clumsily masked eyes scowled at the glinting question mark.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful night. The moon glimmered gently on the surface of the lake, highlighting tiny wavelets as they bobbed toward the shore. Distant chatter from outdoor diners echoed softly.<p>

The four rogues had found a nice little deck to relax on. True, the tables and chairs had been overturned and stacked for the winter, but that didn't matter. There was still a sturdy railing to lean on in order to take in the view. A long wooden bridge, starting at the center of the deck, stretched across the lake.

Eddie and Jackie stood together, resting their heads against each other. Beside them, Sorrow and Grief leaned over the railing, hands clasped, watching scraps of litter swirl in the current.

Eddie slipped his arm a little tighter around Jackie, smiling as she cuddled closer. Behind them, wood scraped on wood. The Riddler glanced over his shoulder to see a hunched form in a red cape disappearing abruptly behind the stacked furniture. With a roll of his eyes, he turned back to the lake. He wouldn't bother the others with this nonsense.

It was almost a shame that they had to go back to Gotham. This town was so nice and quiet, even with the annoying red-caped nuisance of an amateur hero lurking somewhere behind him. But the back of his brain was itching, seething, boiling over with riddles to be riddled and puzzles to be puzzled. He couldn't wait to get home and paint the town green.

Two men wandered to the far side of the railing, peering across the dark water to a distant fountain spraying from the lake's surface. "Excuse me," the taller one asked the person nearest to him, which happened to be the Riddler. "Do you know what time it is?"

Eddie glanced at his watch. "Nine-thirty."

"That's a nice watch," the stranger said, smiling. "Hand it over."

"What?"

"I said _hand it over_." The two men stepped away from the railing. The short one held a short, heavy length of pipe in one hand. The taller one's fist glinted from the brass knuckles wrapped around his fingers.

As the realization hit him, Eddie almost laughed out loud. They were being _mugged_.

"Wallets too. Hurry up!"

Eddie slowly and carefully began to undo his watch. "Oh dear," he said pointedly toward the tipped-over table. "If only there was a hero here to rescue us."

"This ain't Metropolis," the tall one snapped.

"No one's here to save you," the short one added. "This town doesn't have heroes."

"I guess you're right," the Riddler sighed, holding his watch in one hand as he slipped the other into his back pocket. "A _real_ hero would have been out here by now. Real heroes don't let people get mugged, you know. Oh, would you look at that - "

Grand Strand Man, in all his pouch-covered glory, eased himself out from behind the nest of stored furniture and dragged himself up to the muggers. "Who's the kid?" the tall one demanded of Eddie.

"I'm Grand Strand Man," Jimmy said sullenly. Then, choking on the words that he really didn't want to say, he growled "Leave them alone."

"Buzz off," suggested the short one.

Grand Strand Man leapt at the muggers, focusing his efforts on wrenching the pipe away from the short one. He managed to knock it out of the man's hands. It rolled over the edge of the deck into the water, where it immediately sank.

"You brat!" growled the tall one, snagging him by one pouch-covered strap and throwing him to the ground. The would-be hero scrambled to his feet just in time to put his face directly in the way of the short one's furious punch.

Grand Strand Man hit the boards with a painful-sounding thud. The tall one expressed just how happy he was to meet Jimmy by stomping hard onto his kidneys.

"Okay, okay," Eddie said, buckling his watch back onto his wrist. "I think he's had enough." Grand Strand Man, bloody-faced, curled into a tiny ball of pain on the slightly splintery wooden planks of the deck.

"Who asked you?" the tall one snarled. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

Eddie smiled, lazily tucking his jacket back and placing his hands on his hips. Two question-marked weapons, newly revealed, glinted in the moonlight. "Riddle me this," he asked gleefully. "No one wants me, yet I have been given freely since the beginning of time. Your children don't know me and your fathers know me too do not seek me, yet you stand in my house. What am I?"

"A dead man," the tall one snapped, ignoring the riddle in favor of threats.

"Close! Very close indeed," Eddie smiled. With the flick of a wrist a little gun was in his hand. Golden question marks shimmered in the moonlight.

The short one was growing distinctly pale. "I think that's the Riddler," he whispered urgently to his companion.

"Don't be stupid!" The tall one examined Eddie. "He's not wearing green!"

"Yeah, but he's got those weapons..."

"They're probably just toys," sniffed the tall one.

Eddie obligingly aimed his weapon into the water and fired. A double ray of electric green light zipped out of the barrel of the tiny device. Deep below the surface of the lake, a ball of light glowed ominously for a moment, rising fast toward the air. The surface of the water churned and bubbled, exploding upward in a towering splash.

Hot rain spattered down around them. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Riddler," the tall one stammered, stumbling over his trembling companion. "We'll just...get out of your way..." They took to their heels, racing across the deserted shopping area and disappearing.

"Did you know it did that?" Jackie demanded, looking at the minigun as if it might jump out of Eddie's hand and hold them hostage.

"I...think they may have upgraded their technology a little," Eddie said, gently tucking the device back into its holster.

Grief knelt by the fallen hero. "Do you need a hand?" he offered, pulling the cape off of Grand Strand Man.

The teenager shot to his feet, jerking away from Grief as if he might contract Supervillainitis from standing too close. "Don't _touch_ me," he snarled. Blood from his broken nose dripped in a steady _splut, splut_ onto his chest.

"You might want to put some ice on that," Eddie, veteran of many a broken nose, suggested.

"You might want to shut up!" Grand Strand Man glared furiously over his swelling nose. "Don't think that this changes anything," he growled. "You're still villains and I'm still going to arrest you. You'll see. You'll see!" He spun in place, cape flaring dramatically behind him, and stalked off across the long wooden bridge spanning the lake.

"Well," Eddie said, breaking the silence. "Anyone feel like dessert?"

* * *

><p>All good things must come to an end. Of course, this means that all <em>bad<em> things must come to an end, as well, which is possibly the only thing that makes the slow march of time tolerable.

The end of the vacation loomed. When the suitcases were packed, the apartment was cleaned, and the car was loaded, the four rogues locked up and slid into the car for their final night on the town. They would go eat at the best, the fanciest, and the most expensive restaurant within the city limits: Milton Green's La Plage Grille. After that, they would travel back home, wrapped in the safety of the night. By the time they hit Gotham, the sun would be up and the Bats would be back in their belfries.

La Plage was everything that anyone could want in a restaurant. The chairs were plushly upholstered, the lighting was soft and dramatic, and the food..._well_! If heaven was a meal, it would have been served at La Plage on an elegant gold-trimmed plate.

Eddie and his companions were enjoying their meals, though _enjoying_ seemed like a pale representation of the wonders exploding in their mouths. They laughed, talked, and did their best to act like normal citizens on a night out.

A lone man slid into a nearby table. Sorrow glanced over and stiffened in her seat. "I don't believe this," she hissed.

"What? What's wrong?" Grief asked, craning his neck to see.

"Take a guess," she growled. Eddie and Jackie turned just in time to see a pair of blackened eyes peering savagely at them from over the rim of a menu.

"He followed us _here_?" Jackie sighed, slumping into her chair. "How did he find us?"

Eddie's eyes narrowed. "I'll take care of it." He summoned a passing waiter. "We'd like to switch tables...somewhere _away _from that young man," he added, glancing in the badly-hidden Grand Strand Man's direction.

"I'll take care of it at once, sir. If you'll follow me -" The waiter obsequiously beckoned them to a far table, surrounded on all sides by smiling, chatting diners. As they settled into their new seats, a pair of waiters almost immediately delivered their plates and filled their water glasses.

"Waiter!" Everyone in the room turned to see the overly loud, roughly bruised teenager in the Goodwill suit jacket. "I want to move tables, too," he demanded when a waiter approached.

"Certainly, sir," a waiter soothed quietly. "There is a lovely table on the other side of the restaurant - "

"No!" interrupted the boy. "I want to sit by _them_." He pointed to the Riddler and company, who did their best to ignore him.

"I am afraid, young sir, that the tables in that area are already filled." The waiter gestured to the far wall. "I am certain that sir will find something suitable elsewhere."

"You don't understand! It's a matter of national security!"

Diners rustled uneasily, glaring genteely at the troublemaker in their midst. "Sir," the waiter said, with the patience of one making three hundred dollars an hour in tips, "I must ask you to lower your voice. You are disturbing the other patrons."

The boy glanced around, only now noticing the interest that his raised voice had drawn. All hope of subtlety was clearly lost. "Fine. Will you _please_ seat me by them?" he asked in a murmur dripping with forced politeness.

"I am terribly sorry, sir, but as you can see, there are no tables in that area," the waiter said firmly. "If there is anything else I can do for you, be sure to let me know." He spun on his heel and strode away, moving nimbly between the tables.

The boy scowled. Then, with rage twisting his face and narrowing his blackened eyes, he stood up and pointed accusingly across the restaurant. "That man," he informed the entire dining room at a volume just below a shout, "is the _Riddler_. They're supervillains!"

The diners looked across the room. Eddie looked up from his steak and gave the room a quizzical glance. "Me?" he asked innocently.

Sorrow, her hands hidden behind long satin gloves, shook her head in false bemusement as Jackie stifled a giggle behind her well-manicured fingers. Grief, ignoring the situation, toyed miserably with a crescent of dinner roll.

"Don't try to deny it!" Jimmy snapped, flushing bright red as snickers erupted from around the room. Waiters flocked toward him like maids rushing to a dirty floor. "You're the Riddler, and she's Sorrow, and he's - _get your hands off me_!"

The maitre d, with a tight, pinched expression on his face, took Jimmy by the arm and adroitly propelled him through the restaurant. "We would appreciate it if you did not return," he said, loudly enough for the other patrons to hear.

"But you don't understand - they really are - you don't have to -" The door slammed shut on Jimmy's protests.

The maitre d skimmed lightly back to Eddie's table. "I am so sorry," he said. "Had we known that the young man would react so loudly - and mistaking you for supervillains!" The word tumbled out of the man's mouth as if his lips and tongue were unaccustomed to such syllables sharing each other's company. "I am deeply sorry. Please, allow us to cover the cost of your meal tonight."

"That would be fine," Eddie said, a bright smile pasted on his face.

The maitre d smiled politely in response, then retreated to the kitchen.

Eddie turned back to the table, setting his back firmly between the dining room and the small circle of rogues. "This ends tonight," he muttered.

"How?"

Eddie's knife stabbed deep into his steak. "The only way it can end," he promised darkly.

* * *

><p>A brisk, chilly wind breezed steadily past the door of the La Plage Grille, sweeping the scent of ocean salt and exquisite food into the city. The moon shone gently on the parking lot, twinkling off of side mirrors and chromed detail work. Something moved in the shadow of the ornamental bushes. Something red. Something thin. Something with vengeance on its mind.<p>

The Riddler, Sorrow, Grief and Jackie stepped out of the restaurant, gracefully sidestepping the valet and moving down the sidewalk away from the bushes. They rounded the corner and disappeared.

A red blur, somewhat bruised, pelted out of the bushes after them. "Stop!" Grand Strand Man commanded, cape draped awkwardly over one arm. "You are under arrest!"

The rogues, as one, turned to face him. Eddie stepped forward. Something under his suit jacket briefly glinted golden in the moonlight. "Are we now," he said flatly. "And how do you intend to stop us?"

"With this!" Grand Strand Man drew his hand out from beneath his cape. A stun gun sparked at them, twin prongs hissing in the still air.

"Riddle me this," Eddie said, one hand slipping slowly toward his belt. "What demands an answer, but never asks a question?"

"A...um..." Grand Strand Man shook his head sharply. "Who cares?" he demanded. "I can take you down!" The stun gun fizzled menacingly at them.

Eddie tsked lightly and flicked something from a safe spot nestled in his belt. "The answer," he commented softly, "is a phone." Indeed, it was a phone - a phone painted all over with golden question marks. "Did you hear all of that?" he inquired toward the seemingly inert device.

"We did," came the reply. From a parked car across the street, one dark figure emerged and trotted up to the small group.

"A policeman!" exclaimed the would-be hero, tucking the stun gun back into a pouch. "A policeman. Really? You called the cops on yourself?"

"Oh, not on _me_," Eddie remarked, a vicious smile cutting into his face. "Officer?"

Lightning-fast, handcuffs ratcheted around Grand Strand Man's wrist. "What? No!" he yelped.

"You have the right to remain silent - "

"Why? What did _I _do?" he screeched.

"Stalking. Unlawful imprisonment. Disturbing the peace," the cop said with a shrug.

"What?" the boy gasped. "No. No, you don't understand! He's the Riddler!"

The cop looked carefully at Eddie, taking in the question-marked phone. "Nope," he said bluntly. "WHAT?" The kid fumbled in his pouch, twisting out of the way as the cop attempted to capture his other arm. "No, look, I pulled him up on WikiVillainy - that's him!" He held the phone out, begging for confirmation.

The cop peered at the tiny screen, at Eddie, and again at the tiny screen. Eddie obligingly made the same face that he was making in the digital picture. The cop examined both again. "Nope," he repeated. "I don't see it."

"WHAT?" the boy screeched. "You have to see it - he's the Riddler! He is! He - hey!"

The cop wrenched the would-be hero's arms behind his back and clicked the cuffs closed. His phone dropped to the ground. "My phone! My mom's gonna kill me," he wailed, trying to bend over and retrieve the lightly damaged device.

The cop scooped it up and slid it into his pocket. "Oh, I'm sure your mom will have other things to worry her," he commented. He nodded politely to the group of rogues. "Evening, folks."

"Evening," they chorused back. "Thanks for your trouble," the Riddler added.

The policeman grinned in response. He obviously knew the Riddler for who he was, and just as obviously was willing to be paid large amounts of money to pretend that he didn't. Of course, no law-abiding cop would have taken the bribe, which is why he certainly and in no way had a fat bundle of hundreds tucked in the pocket over his heart. "Come on, kid," he said, hustling him toward the unmarked car and tucking him into the backseat.

"But I'm the _hero_!" the boy wailed as the door slammed shut.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

Eddie and Jackie had settled back into their Gotham lives with relative ease. On their return, Eddie had curled up for several hours with a selection of notebooks, checking and cross-checking riddles and their targets for maximum profit and incomprehensibility. After all, the next heist would be Jackie's first - and the first time had to be special.

Jimmy Velasquez could attest to that. He'd attended his first special booking session, slept in his first very special jail cell, and been to his very first super-special and completely humiliating criminal hearing. He scowled in the backseat of his mother's van as she silently drove him home. If only the cop hadn't been so stupid! If only the _world_ wasn't so stupid! If only the Riddler had never shown his stupid face around _his_ town!

Jimmy's fists clenched tightly. He was going to get even with the Riddler for this. Oh, yes. And as soon as he was done with his _community service_ he'd find the perfect way to get back at that arrogant son-of-a-bitch. And he knew just the way to do it...

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Milton Green survived his brush with the Joker and Harley and moved to Myrtle Beach! Good for him. <em>

_I want to thank all of you that review for your kind words. I'd also like to take this opportunity to encourage all of you to leave reviews with every author that writes something that you enjoy. Positive reviews are basically the only way that authors around here know that you're enjoying yourself. Tell them what you liked and why you liked it, and they'll probably try to give you more of the same! _

_There will be more Eddie and Jackie, but I'm giving them a break for a little while. Stay tuned for my next story, "Go for Broke", in which Arkham Asylum's residents are in a whole new kind of trouble. See you next time!_


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